


Ashes

by lacemonster



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, damian bullies an old woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9148495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemonster/pseuds/lacemonster
Summary: After discovering that his father has no plans to hand down the cowl to him, Damian leaves the batfamily to find a runaway bomber and to prove himself as worthy of the Batman title. In the meantime, Dick has plans to rebuild Gotham after the wake of the attack, and encourages Damian to find his own identity.Flamebird AU. For the DickDami Secret Santa exchange.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weird_bird (2weird4)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/2weird4/gifts).



> This is for the DickDami Secret Santa exchange: for heirloomparasite, who requested a Flamebird AU.
> 
> It was probably so obvious that it was me who had you, considering how I kept avoiding talking about my end of the exchange. :') I'm really bad at secrets hahaha. I hope you like it anyways. I was honestly at a bit of a loss of what to write, so this is probably all over the place, and I definitely know that it's filled with some plotholes, but I tried to make this a little more lighthearted and feel-good for you. Your prompt made it really fun and interesting to explore Dick and Damian as characters, and see how they fit into the Flamebird/Nightwing myth. I hope you like it! I really enjoy our talks and I hope you have a happy New Years!
> 
> This is set a few years into the future, where Damian is a young adult and all of the other characters are aged accordingly.

“Keep up,” Damian said, growling.

“My hands are a little full, in case you haven’t noticed,” Jason quipped back. Damian kept his eyes in front of him, avoiding the sparking wires ripped from the ceiling and the chunks of fallen plaster that kept threatening to trip him. He was leading the way at a brisk pace, trying to listen carefully to the footsteps behind him to make sure no one was too astray.

He already knew who it was that falling behind, even without Jason saying anything.

“Not _you_ ,” Damian said, annoyed. He ignored the almost ominous creaking sounds coming from above—the upper floor seemed like it was going to topple at any minute, an observation that Damian tried to stuff into the back of his mind. “ _Nightwing_.”

“My hands are full too,” Dick said, piping up in protest.

“We all know that isn’t the issue. _You’re_ just distracted,” Damian said, an edge to his voice. “I could hear you two _giggling_ just a few minutes ago.”

“But she’s so cute,” Dick cooed.

They came across a large pile of rubble. Damian spotted an opening. He turned to double check on his teammates, just in time to catch Dick nuzzling his face against the baby he was carrying. Damian resisted rolling his eyes. Without saying a word, he lifted a hefty plank on his shoulders. He gritted his teeth, finding it difficult to hold up—especially with all the rubble on top of it, weighing it down. His nose itched as some dust began to settle on his hood and shoulders. Without having to be told, Dick covered up the baby’s head and ducked underneath. Jason followed suit, carrying the baby’s injured mother on his back. Once Damian saw they made it safely to the other side, he set the plank back down.

Damian just barely managed to squeeze through the opening—fully anticipating it all to collapse on him at any moment, especially any time his broad shoulders bumped up against the walls. He ignored the crumbled plaster biting at his knees as he crawled underneath the wreckage. He made it back out on the other side, covered in chalky dust. He didn’t stop to clean off his uniform, although knowing the mess was there was seriously screwing with his inner neat-freak. He had to prioritize—while they had managed to brace through most of the destruction, they had to evacuate the building in case it collapsed any further.

The exits had been broken off and all the windows were sealed. A few of the windows had shattered but none looked safe enough to grapple out of, due to the broken glass as well as the rubble on the streets. So when Damian and the rest of his team found survivors in the wreck, they decided to route their way to the next best solution, the skywalk.

“Oh, thank God,” the woman on Jason’s back said once the skywalk was in sight. It seemed to be intact still. As Damian trailed behind them, he glanced at the woman’s leg, noticing that it was still bleeding despite the makeshift splint that Jason had put together.

As they began to cross the skywalk, Dick suddenly slowed to a stop. Jason and Damian followed his fixated gaze—Damian felt his heart stop when he noticed the black clouds of smoke. From their viewpoint in the sidewalk, they could see all of the wings to the hospital. It seemed that the fire was spreading—and the part of the building that was on fire looked all too familiar.

“Red Robin is in there,” Dick said, even though it didn’t need to be said. The tension in the air had said enough.

Still, Jason shook his head. “We need to get these people out of here while we can.”

Dick scowled. “We need to call for help. We need to get someone up there.”

“And call _who_ , exactly? Everyone is tied up, trying to find survivors all across the city.”

“I’ll go back and get him,” Dick said, trying to hand the baby off to Damian. Damian and the baby both blinked at each other.

“Have you forgotten why we’re here?” Jason said sharply, stopping him in his tracks. “We’re all here to save innocents. Red Robin can handle himself. Besides, he knew what he was getting himself into—”

“What, so we let him die?”

“Are you fucking with me?” Jason said, incredulously. “That’s not what I’m saying at all, dumbass! I’m telling you to stop trying to fix what can’t be fixed! What, you think you’re the only one who’s worried? We haven’t spoken to Lark for the past _hour_ , and Spoiler—”

“Can you not swear in front of my baby?” the woman piped up. “And for that matter, can you _please_ get me and my child out of here?”

“ _Lady_ —”Jason started with a deep inhale of breath.

“I’m still not even entirely sure if I can trust you all,” the woman said, grumbling. “You could be any losers dressed up in costumes.”

Damian felt his short patience snap. The building was collapsing, was on _fire_ for that matter, and this was not the time to be arguing.

“All of you, _shut up_ ,” Damian said, cutting in. He could still see the flames in the corner of his peripherals. Determined, he said, “I’ll go check on him. You two get out of here.”

“Robin, I can’t let you go up there—”Dick started.

“You fucking hypocrite,” Jason said, scoffing—sounding almost like he was on the verge of laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. “You just said you were going to go up there yourself!”

“That’s different. I’m the oldest—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, what is this? Fighting over who gets a turn on the _monkey bars of fiery death_? Your age doesn’t mean _shit_ ,” Jason said. “ _Neither of you_ are going up there. This is _not_ what Red Robin would want. He’d want you two to stick to doing your jobs.”

“Whatever, Hood,” Damian said, tightening his bracers. “You’re just chickening out because you know if you volunteered, you’d get burnt to a crisp. _Again_.”

“Is that a dead Robin joke? Because you’re really one to talk. I could volunteer my sword to your chest if you need to get your memory jogging again.”

“I was killed by a corrupted version of _myself_. You were killed by a _clown_. Hardly the same. But enough of this—I’m going in there, since I couldn’t trust either of you two do it anyways.”

Frankly, Damian wasn’t even sure if he could trust himself. Despite all of his training, he wasn’t fireproof. If anything, his training told him that the _worst_ thing he could do was walk _into_ a burning building. But considering his history, he had admittedly done worse, and Damian simply couldn’t afford self-doubt in any circumstance.

“Be careful,” Dick said.

“Stop crying,” Damian said, because it was easier to be mean than grateful.

Without waiting for another word, he quickly took off, as determined to get it all done as soon as possible. He moved faster on his own, moving over and under obstacles easier than most people walked. He remembered the layout of the hospital from the briefing before the mission and already decided on a route to Tim’s location.

As he moved, he filtered through the lenses on his mask, bringing up a map. He could see the blinking dots of his comrades—Dick and Jason were doing as told, getting out of the building. Everyone’s trackers showed up on the map, with the exceptions of Spoiler and Lark, who both had been offline for awhile, a fact that was more than a little concerning—especially since they were both searching for survivors together. It didn’t help that their commlink had been compromised by a signal jam—they had no way of knowing if they were okay or even alive.

Another thought that Damian had to shove aside.

Damian’s didn’t realize how long he had been running until he had trouble breathing. He was getting close to the west wing. He ducked down, grabbing the respirator mask from his belt. He tugged it on, threw his fireproof hood over his head, and started his search.

The deeper into the smog he went, the harder it became to see. He had to stick low to the ground and his protective gear blocked off most of his peripherals. He had to heavily depend on the map on his mask to guide his way. Still, he managed to blindly crawl his way around to Tim.

Damian didn’t see Tim as much as he heard him.

“Robin?” a muffled voice called out. Damian followed the direction of it, found a pile of rubble blocking a doorway. Between the crevices, he caught a glimpse of Tim. “Why are you here? You should be helping people in the—”

“Nightwing the Mother Hen was worried about you. We saw the fire. I came back to check on you and found that you’re still hopeless, as usual.” Without another word, Damian immediately started to pull aside what pieces of the pile he could. Even beneath the heat-protected gloves, he could sense the warmth coming off the pile. The roar of the fire was coming from the other side—with Tim caught in the middle.

“You’re not supposed to run into a burning building,” Tim said, sounding disgruntled.

“Do you want my help or not?”

“So you _are_ helping me,” Tim said, and Damian could sense the smirk behind the facemask.

“ _Tt_. Just hurry up and take down this wall with me.”

They managed to pull away enough of the plaster to make an opening through which Tim could crawl through. Damian could read in Tim’s body language that he was not doing well—even though he wore a facemask, that long in that thick of smoke couldn’t have been good for him.

“I need a second,” Tim said, kneeling.

“We don’t have one,” Damian insisted.

“Right,” Tim said after a moment, and he didn’t argue when Damian dragged him off the ground.

Damian supported Tim’s weight as they moved toward the exit. But before they could leave, the already fragile ceiling caved in. Damian reacted quickly, pulling him and Tim to the nearest pillar as it all came down. By the time it settled, Damian looked at the remains hopelessly—there was no way they could simply set aside this obstacle.

“We have to find another route,” Damian said.

“There isn’t one. Trust me,” Tim said. “Perhaps we can find another way around it. Maybe find the vents?”

“Forget it. I’ll make a way out,” Damian said, reaching into his belt. When Tim caught a glimpse of what was blinking in Damian’s hands, he jerked away in reaction.

“Put that away! The solution is not to blow our way out of here—you’re going to make things worse!” Tim exclaimed, but Damian just yanked him back in. For good, measure, he pulled his cape over them both.

“What else is new?” Damian muttered, and he tossed the exploding batarang toward the rubble.

 

From the corner of Leroux and Capitol, St. Mary’s Hospital looked the same as it always did, but a quick wraparound the building showed the aftermath of the destruction.

The explosive had gone off near the central building, the fire spreading into the west wing—the same area that Red Robin had been trapped in. The fire had burned for several hours, though GCFD had managed to keep the flames contained. So while half of the hospital survived, the other half was left as nothing but a charred, skeletal-like structure of black, broken beams and rubble.

It was difficult for Damian to see its entirety past the tarps and caution tape, but he imagined it was similar to the other sites he had visited. Four buildings in uptown Gotham had been targeted, though only one of them remained intact. The worst of them was a library, which Lark and Spoiler had tended to before it collapsed entirely. Luckily they both made it out okay and all of the staff had been saved, though the building had completely gone under.

Damian yawned a little to himself, turning away from the hospital site toward his father. Bruce hadn’t said a word—which wasn’t unusual. The way Bruce also skulked about double checking, _triple_ _checking_ really, their surroundings was nothing new either. Between Damian’s weariness were bits of irritation. For once, he actually _wished_ Bruce would prove him wrong. He knew that his father wasn’t going to simply accept the reports that the bat family had given him concerning the attacks, and so he had hoped that his father’s hawk eye would have found _something_ so they could just go home already.

Based on Damian’s history with his father, he knew well enough that Bruce wasn’t going to just let this go. There would be no pats on the back, or mournful sighs of _we did everything we could_. No. This was likely going to go on all night. Hundreds of thousands of dollars of property damage, twenty-two casualties, numerous injuries on top of that, and the fact that Batman had been _away_ on a Justice League mission for the entirety of it… he was taking the mission personally. Damian tried to be patient, considering the guilt that his father must have felt for not being there to help when the rest of the bat team had to be called into action, but they had now reached the point where Damian had to put the foot down. His father couldn’t keep doing this.

Plus, Damian was also really hungry and he just realized he forgot to walk Titus that day.

“You’re wasting time,” he piped up. “We’ve already checked all these rooftops for clues. Our best lead is the deactivated bomb. We should focus on that first.”

“Batwing and Bluebird are already working on analyzing that information and it may take some time. Meanwhile, the best we can do is see if we can find any other traces of our perpetrator. He wouldn’t have been satisfied with just watching the buildings fall from a recording—he’d want to see it in person. The question is, _where_.”

Damian’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head.

“Must you scrutinize every detail in our reports? The team has already checked the rooftops, alleys, sewers. We’ve recovered all recorded footage in this area. Our only other lead is the bomb. If we have to wait for Batwing and Bluebird to figure out how it was made and where it came from, we should leave them to it and work on other cases,” Damian said. Bruce didn’t take the bait. He continued moving his flashlight around, searching for whatever clues he was insistent on finding. Damian just sighed and continued trailing his father, pretending to look too. Everything was agonizingly familiar.

At some point, Bruce stopped to look out into the distance. Damian followed his gaze. In the cluster of buildings, a single church spire raised to the sky.

“A hospital, a library, a school, and a church…” Bruce said, seeming to ponder out loud. Something he almost never did. Bruce looked over his shoulder at Damian. “How did you guess the church was going to be next? More than that, how did you know it was going to be _that_ church?”

“Gotham School of the Performing Arts has a clocktower. The library has a cupola. The hospital has the highest story in uptown. Then there’s the church with its spire. The peaks of all four buildings are the highest in uptown Gotham, and you can easily see them from the bridge.” Damian shrugged. “Honestly, I had no motivation to tie with the bomber, so I guessed he was a narcissist. It was more in good fortune that we managed to save another building. The way the timing of the bombs lined up, it was possible that there was another bombing approaching, so we had to take our educated guesses. I suggested the church and I was right—we found the bomb before it could go off.”

“Your guess saved another building from falling, and you were able to find and deactivate the bomb which could lead us to our bomber. Not to mention you saved numerous survivors, Red Robin included.”

Damian glanced at his father curiously, not understanding where he was going with this speech. Bruce finally stopped searching, turning his attention to Damian. Damian wasn’t sure how to feel when his father looked at him. He seemed almost…

Proud?

“You did good work.”

Damian blinked.

Before Damian could convince himself that he was just sleep-deprived and imagining things, his father continued, “You’re going to do great things one day.”

“You're _complimenting_ me. I... don't know if I like it.”

“You don't think anything is up here,” Bruce said, changing the subject. It wasn't a question.

“No,” Damian said at once. “Batwoman, Batgirl, Nightwing... We all checked everything we could. We found nothing.”

“Then I'll take your word for it,” Bruce said, and he started to head in the direction that they parked the batmobile.

Damian snorted a little to himself. He didn't buy it for a second. “You want to check the bridge instead, don't you?”

“Perhaps,” was Bruce’s response.

_Yes_ , Damian translated in his head.

They headed toward the vehicle in silence. As they walked, Damian’s began to reflect on his father’s words. His father was never one for praise. Damian wasn’t as obsessed with gaining Bruce’s approval as he was in his younger days, though it was still admittedly important. Mostly, he was fixated on the last thing his father said.

_You’re going to do great things one day_.

“What do you mean by ‘one day’?” Damian had to ask. “Is there something you see for me in my future?”

Without looking back, Bruce continued, “I simply meant that your skills are broadening.”

Damian could feel his heart beating. He knew he was getting ahead of himself. But he had to know. “Do you think I’d make a good Batman one day?”

At that, Bruce finally stopped.

“I never said that.” He didn’t even look back.

Damian frowned a little. He had said too much. Still, not one to back down, he felt he had to make his case.

“I mean, you’re not going to be doing this forever—someone will have to take over eventually. I doubt Nightwing wants it back. Gordon was never meant to have it—not to mention he’s more ancient than you are. You will have to give it to someone new—and let’s face it, it’s obvious that I’m the most qualified for the job.”

Bruce wasn’t moving. Damian glanced over at him questioningly, though he had a bad feeling in his stomach. Bruce was setting their detective work aside for a moment to talk—something he _never_ did, unless it was serious. Damian braced himself for the lecture.

“I’m starting to realize that the last time we had this conversation, you were still a child, so perhaps a refresher is necessary—I’m _not_ giving you the cowl. And it wasn’t just Gordon that was never meant to have it, Nightwing was never meant to have it either. He only took it when he thought I was dead. It was my mistake for not making it clear prior to my disappearance—but _no one_ is meant to have this cowl but me.”

Damian could feel himself flaring up at the words. It wasn’t just what his father was proposing—it was also in the sharp, defensive way that he spoke. His tone only made Damian’s blood boil that much more. Damian wanted to lash out, point out how ridiculous his father’s line of thinking was, but he reeled it back. His emotions would only sink him further into trouble, as he learned time and time again.

“I wasn’t talking about _tomorrow_ ,” Damian said. “I just meant that you’re not going to be defending Gotham forever. Batman is slightly less intimidating when he’s hobbling around with a walker.”

Damian was awful at using humor to diffuse situations. He didn’t know why he bothered—especially with his father, the infamous stick-in-the-mud. Damian realized his mistake when he saw the way the cowl pulled as Bruce furrowed his brow.

“I appreciate your ambition. I mean that, truly. But Batman is my creation. It lives and dies with me,” Bruce said. Damian clenched his jaw, biting back his argument. Bruce must have noticed because he slowly shook his head to himself. “Enough of this. We’ll talk about this another time.”

Somehow, the minute Bruce turned his back on him, Damian felt his inner demon rear its head. He was sick of his father constantly sweeping the bigger issues under the rug instead of confronting them. It didn’t make him level-headed, it made him a _coward_. Flashbacks ran through Damian’s head like snapshots—he remembered every argument, every lecture, every mission, where his father constantly undermined him.

And Bruce couldn’t even _humor_ the idea that his son might be worthy of his title.

“You _can’t_ hold it forever,” Damian shot back. He didn’t hold back when his father paused in place. He kept going, “I don’t mean that only literally. Batman could live forever if you just gave it up—and you can’t be as selfish as to hold onto it when you could easily hand it over to someone who can do it better. It’s a disservice to your legacy _and_ this city.”

“Someone who can do it _better_ ,” Bruce said, repeating. He shook his head once. In a lower voice, “You’re letting your _brief_ time as leader inflate your ego. Don’t be mistaken, Robin. You’re intelligent, you fight better than just about anyone I know, but your résumé as _hero_ is lacking.”

“So that’s what this is really about? You’re blaming _me_ for how mother raised me?”

“I never said that either,” Bruce said at once. “You’ve been Robin for eight years. That experience doesn’t stack very high. Nightwing, Batgirl, Red Hood, Red Robin—they’re all ahead of you. Any one of them is equally, if not _more_ , worthy than you.”

“Red Hood? _Tt_. Sure, if you count how many years he spent in the ground,” Damian said bitterly. He raved on, “And Red Robin? That spineless coward? You praised me for _saving_ him. And Batgirl hasn’t got the gall either, for that matter!”

“And Nightwing?”

At that, Damian faltered. His mind grasped at possible criticisms— _he’s too loud, he’s too emotional_ —but just the thought of saying any of them left a bad taste in his mouth. His desire to win the argument wasn’t stronger than the guilt he’d feel for essentially disrespecting the partner he had worked with the longest. And while many people thought of his father when they heard the name _Batman_ , Damian’s mind still wandered to Richard first. He settled on: “He wouldn’t want it.”

“He never did. But he took it when it was the right time to do it. And maybe it’ll be the same for you—but I’ll never let it come to that. Never again,” Bruce said. But whatever truth there was to his words became hardened, and he added in a blunt tone, “You can all decide amongst yourselves who’s worthy— _after_ I’m dead.”

Damian glared at his father’s back as he continued the trek. He could still feel the rage pulling at him.

Sure enough, when they got in the car, they headed towards the bridge.

 

“ _Titus_ ,” Damian said sharply.

The great dane immediately stopped barking at the squirrel that had skittered up the tree, though he still seemed to be staring at it intensely. The squirrel eventually disappeared into the upper branches, out of sight. Damian just rolled his eyes to himself and continued to walk around the Wayne courtyards and Titus, eternally loyal, eventually hurried to catch up.

They finished up their walk, heading back to the manor. Damian blinked twice when he noticed a familiar vehicle sitting out in the driveway.

Sure enough, when Damian and Titus entered the manor, a familiar head poked from one of the doorways.

“Damian,” Dick called out cheerfully. “Come help me with this.”

Damian now noticed the giant box Dick was holding. Damian eyed it skeptically.

“What is that?” Damian said. He got closer, noticed that there was writing on the box in… marker. Damian frowned—there was something horribly wrong about this box: it was in the Wayne manor, but wasn't properly labeled. “And how _old_?”

“Old enough to have existed during Alfred’s theater days,” Dick said simply. “The school that burnt down had a lot of its theater department destroyed, including its costume collection. So Alfred is donating his old heirlooms. Wanna go through it together?”

“I’m sensitive to dust.”

“You constantly brag about how many poisons you’re immune to. I’m sure some storage dust isn’t going to kill you,” Dick insisted. Damian helped him settle the box onto a nearby table, where they both cracked it open. Damian pulled off a dress from the top of the pile, looking at it wryly.

“Exactly what kind of theater productions was Pennyworth in?”

“He did say it would have a bit of everything,” Dick said, chuckling. He picked up a pair of bloomers and flung it at Damian’s head.

“So what, we’re just sorting out what’s ripped and broken?” Damian said, looking down at the bloomers. He cringed, more than a little horrified when he caught a mysterious stain. He immediately dropped it onto the floor. “Or should we just toss it all and keep only the best?”

“I doubt they’ll be picky. It's going to be boxed up for different departments, so there should be a pile for men and women.”

“What would this qualify as?” Damian said, picking up a glittery spandex suit.

“Men,” Dick said.

“I mean, the cut seems to be a man’s… but all of that pink glitter… it has to be a woman’s.”

“It’s men’s,” Dick said, insistent.

“I suppose you’d be the expert.”

“What does that mean?” Dick said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m saying if this was blue, it’d have your name written on it.”

Dick’s face had the faintest flush. “Ha-ha.”

They continued sorting through the pile. As they moved through the box, Damian glanced at Dick’s hands—noticing some scrapes and cuts. He supposed it wasn’t _too_ unusual but…

“What, bad gloves?” Damian asked. Dick glanced down at his hands, realizing what Damian was talking about.

“No I’m just… not very good at carpentry. I’ve been helping the school rebuild.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “They don’t have staff to do that?”

“The building itself is covered. But a lot of their set pieces were barely salvaged. It’s in rough shape, it needs a lot of work.”

“You could probably just buy new ones, if you care to get that involved.”

Dick smiled awkwardly. “Well, after I blew all my money on that Amusement Mile fiasco years ago, I haven’t exactly… been in the best money position. I mean, luckily, back in my wee days, Lucius and Bruce invested part of my money into other projects. So cashing in on those has been able to supplement Nightwing for all these years. But after what happened to the money I threw on Amusement Mile, I still can’t quite spend as needlessly as I used to, so I figured I’d help in whatever way I can.”

Damian was unaware of this. He knew that the Amusement Mile project had sunk Dick into a lot of debt but he never asked for the details. At that age, the only financial concerns he was worried about was his father’s, since it partially affected him. Plus, it was never quite any of his business.

“That shouldn’t be necessary anyways. Why isn’t the city covering this? And charities?”

“They are,” Dick said. “But Gotham doesn't have unlimited resources, only so much of each building can be replaced. And three buildings weren’t the end to the destruction—the fire from the library spread to the block, tearing down a bunch of buildings, including the shelter for homeless families. A lot of charities are getting involved too but there’s only so much they can do. Besides, there are some things that can't be replaced with money. I heard the school’s mural got destroyed…”

Damian looked at Dick warily. There was definitely an implication waiting there. When Dick glanced at him expectantly, Damian shifted in place, feeling uncomfortable. There were too many things on his agenda to be worrying about a charred mural.

“I’m busy,” Damian said shortly.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Stop guilt-tripping me. Just because _you_ can afford to play Boy Scout…”

Dick just grinned. “Who’s guilty?”

Damian rolled his eyes. Sometimes, he genuinely wanted to punch Richard in his stupid mouth. Instead, he settled for slingshotting a brassiere at his face. Dick just laughed it off, as always.

“Still, I’m sure if you asked Father—”Damian started.

“He’s too busy dealing with his own problems,” Dick said. “I’d rather he use his money to find the bomber.”

Damian’s gaze lowered, remembering his conversation with Bruce.

“You know he’s planning on being buried in his goddamned batsuit?” Damian said, tossing a hat into a pile. To Damian’s surprise, Dick just laughed.

“Yeah, figured as much,” Dick said. When he noticed the glare Damian was giving him, he shrugged. “What? I know this might come as a shock to you, but Bruce and I _do_ talk, you know.” In a lower voice, Dick added with a teasing smile, “We might even talk like we’re _friends_ , or something.”

“Stop being a smartass,” Damian barked. “How can you be even the slightest bit okay with this? He’s going to run himself into an early grave.”

“Still not seeing how this is news.”

“The point is that he should pass it down to someone else. Instead, he intends on taking Batman with him when he dies. He wants the legacy to end with _him_.”

“That’s fine,” Dick said. When Damian scowled, Dick just smiled smugly. “What, miss me that much?”

“That was years ago,” Damian said, snorting. At that, Dick finally stopped smiling. Damian continued, “I mean, I was the one that found the lead on the bomber anyways.”

“Oh, I see. So _you_ want to play Batman.” At that, Dick picked up a pair of devil horns from the pile. He lifted it up so it was at level with Damian’s head, and squinted his eyes. “Eh, I could maybe see it. You have gotten a lot taller. Scowl for me real quick.”

“You are way too amused right now.”

“Whoa,” Dick said. His eyes widened. “Say that again but an octave lower.”

“Stop that,” Damian said, smacking the devil horns from his hands. “I won’t stand for you mocking me.” Dick picked up the horns again—the headband they were attached to had actually bent a bit. Still, Dick tossed them in a pile. “Hey, don’t put that in there. They’re broken.”

“I’m sure someone will repair them,” Dick said, shrugging a little. “Though I don’t understand why you’re being so touchy about this Batman thing.”

“I’m not,” Damian said defensively. But then, he realized, he kind of was. “It’s just irritating how much he disrespects me. Just because I’m his sidekick that doesn’t mean I’m still ten and—”

“Running around in scaly panties? Trust me, I get it. But realizing that you want to _be_ Batman is a little hard to process,” Dick said.

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Dick said. The smile was still there on his lips, but there was something distant in his eyes. “I guess I just don’t see the appeal.”

 

            Damian activated the lights to the batcave. The fluorescents turned on one by one.

He approached the case where all of the uniforms and equipment were held. He walked past all of his old uniforms, each one changing in design and size, marking the progression of time. He finally stopped and grabbed the Robin stealth suit, rarely used and reserved only for covert missions. The suit lacked Robin’s usual colors, its greens and yellows replaced with blacks and grays, and the red diluted to a much darker color. He took all of his things and carried it to the nearest workbench. He started with the belt—detaching the buckle and unscrewing it, where he finally found the tiny tracking chip. He tossed it aside and went to vest.

It’d be easier if the vest was black too—but once upon a time, he had wanted to keep all of his vests red. To him, the red was just as symbolic as the emblem itself. His hand traced over the signature _R_ on the chest, staring down as he felt the grooves underneath his fingers. With a small sigh, he unzipped the vest, reaching into the inside to pull apart the rivets that kept the metallic badge in place. When he removed it, there was a faded spot on the chest where it had once been.

Damian felt something when he looked at that spot. But he couldn’t be entirely sure what he felt.

He didn’t focus on the feeling—disregarded it as an unnecessary sentimentality. He quickly threw on the symbolless uniform, grabbed his best equipment, and took off on his bike.

 

Damian looked around the space. The bunker had thick concrete walls with no windows. In the middle of the open room was a ladder that led up a sublevel. Above that, the ladder led to the only exit, wrapping into a tunnel that came out a side door underneath one of Gotham’s bridges. The tunnel itself was wide enough to get his motorcycle through, and the bridge was rarely travelled due to abandoned construction projects.

The bunker itself was ideally located in central Gotham, close to the bustling downtown area and in travelable distance to East End, the more crimeridden area of the city, which made it perfect for patrols.

It was cramped, shoddy, and there was a bit of a strange smell—far from the luxurious, high-tech safehouses his father had built. But… it would do.

There was a light groan in the background.

“Quiet,” Damian said without looking over his shoulder.

He went in deeper, stepping over the occasional trash and beer bottles—most likely the source of the strange smell—where he found a sealed off back room. It needed a code.

“Hey. Ugly. What’s the code?” he asked, turning his gaze. The trio of mercenaries were all hanging from the railing off the sublevel. The fat one looked like he was going purple at this point.

“Go fuck yourself,” the one with the long nose shouted back.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Damian said. He pointed to them one by one. “Fatty. Ugly. Beaky.”

“I’m not even that fat,” Fatty muttered, before sputtering. A cut from his chin was dribbling blood down into his mouth.

Damian threw in a guess—the same passcode as the exit. He almost laughed when it actually worked.

“Could you be any more dense?” he mused to himself. He opened up the door, getting a good look inside. The small, almost closet-like, space only held one type of thing.

He knelt down, picking up the closest stack of money. He flipped through the bills.

It couldn’t even compare to his father’s rainy day stash but, much like the rest of the place… it would do.

 

Damian was wheeling his bike underneath the bridge. On his back he carried some things he had picked up for his newly acquired safehouse. Before he could get to the door, he stopped, sensing something. He listened carefully, trying to determine where he thought he felt another presence. He slowly circled around, subtly turning his head to see _where_ —

“Not sure how I feel about your new threads,” a voice said suddenly.

Damian immediately recognized the voice. He turned, found Dick standing behind him.

Dick shrugged casually, continuing, “Then again, I have a soft spot for red and green.”

“What are you doing here?” Damian said, teeth bared. Dick didn’t respond right away. He flashed Damian a smirk and lifted the object in his hand. The edge of the grappling gun gleamed in the light. Damian stopped.

When did he—that was on his _belt_ —Damian stopped thinking, settled on scowling instead. He wasn’t going to ask how or when.

“Give it back,” Damian said, but Dick was already circling around him, out of his reach. Damian wanted to push him into the river, however counterproductive that’d be. “Or I’ll take it back.”

“You seem to be doing a lot of taking lately, haven’t you?” Dick said, his mask lifting as he raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Damian said, scowling, though he already had an idea. The answer balanced entirely on how much _spying_ Richard had done. The fact that Dick knew where to _find_ Damian, not to mention the serious look on his face, meant Damian had his answer. “How long have you been stalking me?”

“Not stalking. _Finding_.” Dick shook his head to himself. “You couldn’t even think to leave a note?”

“You knew I’d be fine,” Damian said. “Otherwise you’d all be running around the city like chickens with your heads cut off.”

Dick just looked down. Damian stilled, realizing the look even without Dick saying anything. Damian immediately thought back to the burning hospital, when he and Jason insisted on leaving, while Dick could only think about running back in.

At that, Damian felt a dull guilt begin to grow in his chest.

“You need to give that money back,” Dick said, continuing. Damian clenched his jaw. “I’m sure Batman will be happy to give you more equipment any time that you need it—back at the Cave.” In a lower voice, he added, “Back _home_.”

“I’m not going back there,” Damian said. He gave a low, frustrated sigh. What was he expecting? Of course Dick would take Bruce’s side. This conflict was inevitable. Still, the betrayal hurt. Part of him hoped that Dick, of all people, would back off and respect his wishes. “And I’m definitely not going to give that money back to criminals. It belonged to _mercenaries_. Now it can be put to good use.”

“So you did steal it.”

“From _criminals_.”

“For _your own cause_ ,” Dick said sharply. He didn’t give Damian the chance to bite back, he immediately launched into his lecture, “Robin, what are you _thinking_? You can’t just run off, fighting mercenaries on your own. And doing it for _money_? That’s messed up.”

“I’ve been fighting mercenaries _my whole life_ , in case you’ve forgotten. And it’s not for money—the money is just a convenience, so I can do my job better. I could do this with my bare hands if I wanted to. Take away the grappling gun, the uniform, the safehouse, take away all of it, and it wouldn’t matter. I could _still_ do my job better than Father—”

“Is that what this is about?” Dick said, scoffing. “One-upping Batman?”

“I need to prove to him that I can do this better than him. I need to prove that I deserve that cowl—”

“Do you have any idea how insane you sound?”

“How?” Damian said, incredulously. “The entire so-called _family_ runs on insane. How is anything that I’m doing any different than how you, or Batgirl, or Hood, or Red Robin, or anyone else, have done trying to prove yourselves to _him_?”

“Well, for starters… your father is determined to spend the rest of his days in a bat outfit fighting lunatics—and you’re more worried about not getting a promotion. You have to admit, that’s a bit of a red flag,” Dick said, sounding almost contemptuous. It had been a long time since Damian had felt this much irritation from Dick directed at him. It reminded him of being a child. It reminded him of being _Robin_. “Second of all, running away and stealing from everyone is _not_ how to impress him.”

“I’m not going to win by kissing boots. I’m going to win by beating him at his own game.” Damian didn’t understand why he was still trying to explain himself. It wasn't Dick he needed to convince. “Enough of this. You’re just going to take his side. You always do.”

“Is that so? Because all I hear from him is that I spend too much time _coddling_ you.”

“Is that why he sent you?”

“Don’t you get it? I’m not here because of him, Robin. I’m here because of you.”

“Stop calling me that,” Damian said at once, bristling. But the rest of Dick’s words were beginning to sink in—he wondered how much of that was true, or how much of it was Dick just playing him in the effort to get him to rejoin. There was something unnerving about Dick—sometimes, it felt like Dick understood Damian better than he understood himself, and Damian never could tell when Dick was using that knowledge against him.

“Then who are you?” Dick asked.

Damian strode forward, taking the grappling gun from Dick’s hand. Dick let him take it.

“Just one more thing before you run off,” Dick said, and before Damian could blink, something was tossed in his direction. Damian caught it and took a look at it, coming face to face with…

A glittery, plastic owl?

Damian blinked, not knowing where to start.

“What is this?” he had to ask.

“Oh. It’s a flashdrive.”

Damian popped off the head. Sure enough.

“What’s on it? Information on the Parliament?”

“Uh, no. I just bought it because it was cute.” Damian couldn’t help but flash Dick a judgmental look. Dick just cleared his throat and continued, “I’m supposed to hand that over to Batman. It’s the information that Batwing and Bluebird gathered on the bomb you found.”

Damian looked at Dick. He wasn’t sure if he could trust this—not because he didn’t trust Dick, but because people rarely trusted Damian over his father. “You’re actually giving this to me.”

“I’m letting you _borrow_ it,” Dick said. “Batman is still waiting for me to deliver it. Consider it a few hours’ headstart.”

“There’s a catch to this,” Damian said. There was no way Dick would turn his back on Batman, not even for Damian and all of their history, even if it was just for a few hours.

“That school’s mural still needs to be repainted. The person who did the original still has the layouts but she’s too old to actually paint it herself.”

“You’re still on about that?”

“Batman is more than just a crimefighter. He takes care of the community,” Dick said pointedly. Damian didn’t say anything—he took a moment to remember his father and all of the charitable acts he had done, all while juggling his business and crimefighting. His busy lifestyle never stopped him from fundraising, volunteering, or spreading the word. “If you want to surpass him, you need to be better than him on all levels.”

Damian looked down at the flashdrive. He snapped the googly-eyed owl’s head back on. “Fine.”

“I’ll be back for it by the end of my patrol,” Dick said. Damian immediately frowned—that only gave him a few hours. So much for a headstart. Dick must have known the way he shafted Damian too, by the way he smirked. “See? It’s not so bad when I visit. Sometimes I have good news.”

“I hate you.”

“I’ll give you more details on the mural when I’m back,” Dick said before taking off, and Damian wondered how Dick always managed to leave with the last laugh.

 

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Damian stopped what he was doing, gritting his teeth. The pencil in his hand nearly snapped. He never thought such a simple phrase would get under his skin but after hearing it _over_ and _over_ —

“What is it now, Baba?” he asked, looking down. His critic was a five foot tall woman with white hair, a beak nose, and a wrinkled, spotted face. Her name was Babette Babin, but because of her appearance and demeanor, Damian had nicknamed her Baba for _Baba Yaga_ , the witch that appeared in some of his childhood books—before he had moved on to reading the _Iliad_ and _The Art of War_.

If the hag caught the reference, it did little to change her treatment of him. She still barked orders at him as if she was all deserving of his respect, when the only reason Damian was there was for his ulterior motives.

And he wasn’t the only one with ulterior motives. As Baba Yaga ranted at him, he easily looked over her head and caught Dick on the other side of the courtyard near the theatre sets he was helping repair. He was chatting with the head volunteer. _Maria Palermo_ , she had said her name was, to which Damian rolled his eyes.

If it wasn’t a redhead, it was a Sicilian. Grayson was unbelievably predictable. And to think he had lectured to Damian the whole way there about the importance of being _involved_ with the community—Damian wondered exactly how _involved_ Dick would be if he was the one stuck with Baba Yaga instead of the long-legged Palermo.

Damian was in the process of wondering how far he could fling a pencil without _actually killing_ Richard when Baba suddenly spoke up, the screeching tone of her voice suddenly catching his attention.

“Are you listening to me?” she said, her voice a croak. “You’re not following the lines!”

She was referring to her design. The new mural was going onto the other side of the building, which was still intact. They had Baba’s design projected onto the wall, which Damian had to trace on before actually starting the painting process. It was supposed to be a simple, mindless process, and Damian could follow orders rather well when he chose to. But the mural was awfully out of date and just plain tacky and Damian couldn't let that slide, not when it was going to be done by _his_ hand, and _especially_ not when he was going to have to look at this thing for _weeks to come_.

The thought of it alone made Damian’s blood run cold. Richard really got him good. But if Damian left, he'd be backing down.

“I’m just fixing _your_ mistake,” Damian said, not even bothering to strain the irritation from his voice. The old woman had been screeching at him all day and for once, Damian felt he had been _too_ patient.

“ _What_ mistake?” she said, nose scrunching up.

“Pigeons’ heads don’t _twist_ that way. There is no reason I should be seeing this pigeon’s eyes if he’s flying _that_ way,” Damian said, pointing back to the mural. Baba just crossed her arms, not budging. Damian went on, “Also, why would there be chrysanthemums in _natural_ Gotham? Chrysanthemums don’t _grow_ here.”

“Because the dean loved chrysanthemums!”

“That was _thirty years ago_.” Damian doubted the same dean was still working.

“You’re not changing it!” she said, poking a bony finger in Damian’s chest—which she could barely reach.

Damian narrowed his eyes. Baba Yaga would get hers another day. For now, he resumed the mural—the bird’s twisted head and flower anomaly included.

As the end drew near and people were beginning to pack up, Dick came up to him. Dick greeted him by playfully nudging, causing Damian’s hand to slip across the mural. Damian looked at the ugly mark for a moment before shooting Dick a look.

“Whoops?” Dick said, looking a little sheepish. Damian didn't let down. “Well, normally you don't budge...”

Damian was lighthanded when it came to drawing—but he wasn't about to explain that to Dick. “What do you want? Aren't you busy exchanging numbers with Palermo?”

“Exchanging numbers?” Dick repeated. He at least had the decency to look taken aback. “We're just working together to rebuild the school. Strictly professional.”

“Right. Strictly professional,” Damian said, snorting. “Because all of your other _professional relationships_ totally don't overlap into other areas of your life. Like your relationship with Gordon, or Anders, or Bertinelli, or—”

Dick looked a little frustrated. “She just got out of a bad relationship.”

“How wonderfully convenient for you.”

Dick looked miffed. It hardly made up for how Damian felt but he supposed it was a start. He changed the subject. “So what do you want?”

“Just wanted to see how things were going,” Dick said. He looked at the mural, taking it in. The longer he looked at it, the more his brow furrowed,  like he wasn't sure what he was looking at. “What’s that? In the sky?”

“A dragon.”

“But it's supposed to be Gotham, right?” Dick said, frowning. “...is there another one or is that just… the only one?”

“If you have any questions, you can take it up with the artist,” Damian said, speaking over him. “I'm just Baba’s hand. I'm here to stand tall and paint by numbers, not to _think_ , much less speak. So if you don't mind, I think I'm going to finish this as quickly as possible so I never have to look at this godawful thing again—”

In the middle of their conversation, Maria stopped by to bid everyone goodbye for the day. In the process, she slipped something into Dick’s hand. Damian only had to catch part of it to know what it was.

When Damian caught Dick smiling, he quickly fired off in his best Grayson lilt: “ _We're just working together to rebuild the school.”_

“I’m not actually going to call,” Dick said, looking flustered. Damian looked at him. “What?”

Damian thought Baba had left but she came back around.

“Follow the _lines_ ,” she said. She suddenly squinted her eyes, moving closer. She pointed to the mark. “What is that?”

Damian reminded himself to not back down.

 

Damian’s trek slowed to a stop. Under the bridge, standing near the tunnel that led to his safehouse was Nightwing. Damian sighed, wondering if this was going to become a recurring trend. It seemed that it already was. Damian just huffed, bracing himself as he marched forward.

“What?” he spat at him.

To his surprise, Dick suddenly flashed him a smirk that Damian had never seen before. Damian blinked, momentarily stunned.

“You know, before the construction totally killed these roads, this bridge used to be the hot makeout spot for teens.”

Damian’s face fell. “ _Tt_. Teenagers, huh? And how long ago was that for you?”

At that, Dick feigned hurt. “Does this mean I’m not getting my kiss?”

“Gross,” Damian said at once, ignoring the heat that rose to his face. He ducked past Nightwing to get into the entrance—and stopped when he realized Dick was following. “I’m not inviting you inside.”

“I have something for you.”

“I don’t care. You’re not welcome here.”

“But—”

“You think I don’t realize what you’re doing?” Damian said, poking a finger in Dick’s chest. ‘I’m not coming back to the team. Stop trying to coerce me into it.”

“Actually, I wanted to wish you luck on your little solo act—”

“Bullshit! Last time we met in uniform, you were giving me some moral lecture—”

“In which I told you I was on your side and gave you information on the bomber,” Dick said, turning his head.

Damian stopped, realizing that he… didn’t have an argument for that. Biting his cheek, he turned on his heel without another word. He could hear Grayson following him. He forced Richard to turn the other way as he entered the passcode. Once inside, Dick immediately started wandering around, looking at everything.

“Well, it’s not as romantic as a safehouse under a _makeout bridge_ would normally imply, but it seems comfy.”

Damian had furnished it decently well with the money he had taken from the mercenaries. The safehouse was as much as his home as it was a place to store his tools and bike, and while Damian had spent most of his childhood camping out on rocks, deserts, and frozen landscapes… it was nice to have comfortable things.

Damian sat in the chair near a desk he had set up. Pinned on the wall above it was information about the bomber case. He heard Dick’s footsteps as he wrapped around.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about my gift?”

“If it’s about the case, I don’t want any more of your help,” Damian said. He already saw a folder peaking out from behind Dick’s back. Dick made a face.

“I would never. All case info is strictly confidential bat information, after all. But, seeing how this is makeout bridge and everything, I was thinking my gift could be—”

“I don’t need your help,” Damian said, growling.

Dick suddenly dropped the folder on the desk, the pages scattering almost perfectly in front of Damian.

“Oh no,” Dick said flatly. “All of the photos taken from the bat cameras from the suspected whereabouts of the bomber. They just _slipped_.”

Damian breathed in deeply, trying to keep his gaze forward. Away from the papers. Goddamn, it was tempting. He had used the information that Dick gave him to find some local manufacturers for the certain type of hardware the bomber manipulated for his bombs, but he still hadn’t found a lead. “I don’t need you to hold my hand. Never did.”

“Hold your hand? I can’t even hold onto these papers,” Dick said. He seemed to reach to take them back, but from the sounds, Damian could tell that Dick was just shuffling them closer in Damian’s direction. The pages made loud rustling sounds as they criss-crossed on the table. “I can’t even pick them back up.”

Damian’s fingers drummed on his chair rest as Dick continued with his charade, the rustling growing louder and louder. Finally, Damian sighed exasperatedly and spun around. He lightly smacked Dick’s hands out of the way and picked up the mess of papers, sifting through them. Some of the places he recognized but most of them were a mystery.

“How’d he decide on these locations?”

“From the footage we obtained from the nearby buildings and batcameras, and based what we got from witness testimonies, we believe that two of the bombs were carried by cars. The school and the church has no security, so the bombs could have been snuck in by anyone. But for a hospital and the library, it’s much more difficult to sneak that large of an explosive inside… so Batman looked into it. He found images of unmarked vehicles parked outside of each respective building.”

“Any idea who drove them?”

“Not a clue. They appear to be empty, even. Batman’s theory is that there were no drivers—it wouldn’t be the first time we encountered a villain who managed to rig a self-driving vehicle. And that’s where he narrowed down the information. In this folder are all of the stores that sell the hardware that the bomber could have used for his remote controlled bombs and rigged vehicles.”

Damian blinked twice. There was an alarming amount of stores. “There’s so many.”

“The hardware itself is innocent and pretty common, and there’s a lot of techies and robotics fanatics in Gotham.” Dick reached across the table, pushing a particular paper in front of Damian. “But he suspects that the unmarked vehicles were actually stolen cars from Gotham, based on missing car reports that match the make and model of the cars that held the time bombs. This is the list of the narrowed down stores that are from the same areas that the cars were stolen.”

“What if he didn’t even get this stuff from Gotham? What if the cars he stole were chosen at random, from a part of the city he doesn't live in or visit?” Damian said, brow furrowing. “What then?”

“That’s what Batman’s working on,” Dick said, frowning. “But unfortunately, he’s found no fingerprints or DNA evidence on the bomb. He’s trying to find a suspect based on motives and past crimes. He’s been searching through the criminal database to see if anyone might match our case.”

Damian tried to think about his research. He had taken a different approach. Damian tried to find where the bomber might have gotten the ingredients for his homemade dynamite. Damian had been researching smugglers and black market dealers inside of Gotham. But, even then, that was a difficult area to research. He needed more time.

Damian looked up at Dick, who was pondering over the photos.

“Why are you doing this?” Damian said. Dick glanced at him once before looking back at the photos.

“Because the whole team is working on this and it’d be nice to have your eyes too.”

At that, Damian frowned. He leaned back his chair, eyeing Dick carefully. Dick noticed his reaction.

“This is an important mission, Damian,” Dick said, unapologetically. Damian didn’t like where this was heading. “We need everyone to cooperate.”

“So you really weren’t doing me any favors at all. You’re just playing _messenger_.”

“You left the team,” Dick said, looking at Damian pointedly. “You wouldn’t have had access to that information at _all_ if I hadn’t kept you in the loop.”

“But the minute I find anything out, you’re just going to hand off that information to Batman!” Damian said, throwing his hands in the air. He shook his head to himself, feeling the anger beginning to swell in his chest. He felt betrayed. “I’m painting that stupid mural for you because I thought you were going to help _me_ catch this guy!”

Dick crossed his arms. His gaze was elsewhere. “You need to let go of this stupid, one-sided grudge you have with your father. For that matter, you need to give up this idea that he’s ever going to let go of that cowl. Even if he _did_ , you’re not worthy of it. Not yet. Your heart is in the right place, Damian, but the way you go about doing things—the things you prioritize—”

“I should have never accepted your help. That’s the real problem.” Damian got up from his seat, quickly putting the papers back together. Shoved them all back into the folder.

Dick lowered his head. “Wait. I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted this to go—”

Damian didn’t care. He shoved the folder toward Dick. Dick stared it down for a second before taking it.

“I thought we were just going to work together. As partners. But you were just going to drop all of my research into Father’s lap, weren’t you?”

Dick rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish. “Well, it’s not exactly helpful passing on information that he… already knows.”

Damian flared in indignation. He had heard enough insults.

“Alright, I’m done listening to you. _Leave_.”

Damian started shoving Dick towards the exit, but Dick continued to drag his feet across the ground.

“I knew you were going to be mad…” Dick muttered under his breath, as if Damian _couldn’t hear_. Damian clenched his teeth. He knew that engaging with Dick would be a mistake—that Richard _always_ managed to talk his way into forgiveness, and the best strategy would be to _not engage_ —but he found himself speaking up anyways.

“Hey, remember when I died?”

Dick looked at him, surprised. For once, he seemed at a loss of words when all he need to utter was the single syllable of _yes_. It wasn’t something they ever talked about, due to the mutual shame they both felt for their shared failure.

“Remember how the last thing I said to you was how we made a great team?” Of course he remembered. He’d never say it, but Damian knew what an oversentimental sap Dick was. “Well, I take it back. You are the worst. Goodbye.”

“Seriously?” Dick said, incredulous. But the hurt in his voice implied that he still feared that Damian was telling the truth, and Damian should have felt proud for striking Grayson where it hurt, but there was a small tug of his conscience telling him to take his words back.

“Have fun kissing Batman’s leathered ass for however many years he has left,” Damian hurled back anyways, and he let Dick walk himself the rest of the way out.

 

Damian purposefully saved the eye of the twisted bird for last. He never thought such a tiny detail would be so satisfying but he was so happy to finally be done.

“It’s not supposed to be brown, it’s supposed to be _black_ ,” Baba, who had been ever the observer, croaked.

Damian just stared at the mural wearily. “The sunlight is hitting its eyes.”

He didn’t care where the light source was coming from, if he was honest. He wasn’t fixing it.

“It’s wrong,” she said. Damian finally turned toward her and, realizing that this was the last time he was ever going to have to see this horrid woman, painted a stripe on her sleeve.

“And now your sweater is wrong too,” Damian said.

They stopped and stared at each other, long and hard. Finally, Baba said, “You must have had awful parents.”

Damian raised an eyebrow.

Baba shuffled off, walking by an all too familiar face. Damian didn’t realize Dick had been standing there until that moment. He immediately diverted his gaze and grabbed the nearest rag to wipe the paint from his hands. He tried to remain composed, even as he heard the dreaded footsteps approaching.

“I’m glad you finished it. It looks—”

“Gawdy.”

“Well,” Dick stammered. “I mean, it has… character.”

“ _Tt._ Well, I figured I should keep up my end of the bargain, even if I did get the short end of the stick,” Damian said, annunciating his syllables just right to get the perfect edge to his voice. He heard Dick sigh.

“Damian, I was just trying to help—”

“Oh, _shut up_ ,” Damian said, rolling up the paint rag. He tossed it at Dick, who he was expecting to catch or block it, but instead, his former partner just watched sadly as the ball hit his chest and dropped to his feet.

He looked as sad and pathetic as Titus when Damian yelled at him once for getting into his treats. Strangely enough, the feeling was even complete with a weird impulse to pet Richard on the head.

“I’m tired of being your pity case. You’re just trying to fill in the holes that you know Father can’t, but that’s not what I want at all! I’m your equal—yours, as much as his. I deserve to be treated with respect, not some—some sheep of a sidekick!”

“I know—”

“Then act like it!” Damian said. “Stop trying to fix things and let me handle it already!”

“Okay, okay,” Dick said, hands up in surrender. Damian seethed a little, but the anger was quickly subsiding. He managed to get out what had been bothering him for days and truth be told, underneath all of the rage and anger was just guilt, because it wasn’t even Richard that he was upset with. He was just a convenient punching bag because no one else was around. And while Dick had did some things that Damian deemed unfair and disrespectful, in the end, he was still there with the best intentions. Damian kept his mouth shut, letting Dick talk. “I just don’t want you to burn bridges with Bruce the same way I did when I became—”Dick stopped short, glancing around”—well, you know. A third-shifter.”

Dick, clearly trusting that Damian wasn’t going to throw anything else at him, pulled him into a corner where no one could eavesdrop. Damian let Dick drag him around, though he glared into the back of his head the whole time.

“Look, I was maybe around your age when I started to run off and do my own things too,” Dick said in a low voice. Damian looked at him begrudgingly, and found it increasingly difficult to remain indifferent when he saw the sincerity in Dick’s eyes. His… very blue eyes. “And it was the happiest, most liberating time of my life—but it would have been a lot better if I wasn’t arguing with Bruce all of the time. Like it or not, he’s always going to be around. If anything, you have it tougher than I did, because you two share a gene pool.”

“So what? I just let him boss me around?”

“No, I just—I think you’re going about this the wrong way,” Dick said. “Stop worrying about what Bruce thinks of you.” Damian felt a flare of indignation, opened his mouth to argue but Dick spoke over him. “I’m serious. I wasted so much time and energy in my life trying to impress him. It finally came to a point where I realized I had to let go of it. I had to let go of _Robin_ , the sidekick.”

“I’ve already done that—”

“But you haven’t! You may have let go of Robin, but you haven’t let go of _Batman_. You’re still running around, trying to solve _his_ missions, trying to prove you can _be_ him. You may have gotten rid of _R_ on your chest, but you’re still running around doing the same things you used to do.” Dick shifted in place, glancing around. Trying to think of something else to change Damian’s mind, who was standing there as still as ever. Finally, Dick sighed and said, “Look. Did I ever tell you about where I got my identity?”

_Nightwing_. Damian stopped to think. Somewhere, along the line, Dick must have explained and Damian just didn’t remember. “I dunno. Your weird bird fetish, combined with teenaged edginess?”

“No, I got it from Superman,” Dick said. “ _Nightwing_ is a Kryptonian legend that I connected to. It has nothing to do with Batman _or_ Robin. It’s _my_ identity. And you need to find yours. It’s not just about making Bruce proud. You know you’re capable of doing great things, you insist you can do better work, so _do_ it. Why settle for a cowl and a symbol when you can make something better?”

“Cute pep talk,” Damian said deprecatingly, but it was just a front. In truth, a lot of what Dick said made sense, and Damian knew that the words were sincere. Still, the idea of _starting over_ just wasn’t in Damian’s upbringing. He needed to succeed, he needed to win and be done with it, and that meant finishing his mission.

“Take it or leave it,” Dick said. He took a step back. “You’re going to do what you want to do, and I can’t change that. But just be careful, is all I’m asking. Just because you can do things on your own, that doesn’t mean you have to. No uniform is worth burning bridges for. Trust me.”

 

The rain was starting to roll off Damian’s hood and drip onto his lap. Drip by drip by drip. Until it was all Damian could notice. It was incredibly agonizing. He wanted to shake the rain from his clothes, wanted to at least stand up and get the crick out of his lower back, wanted to go _home_ wherever that might be, but he forced himself to stay planted in his hiding spot. He didn’t groan or sigh a single complaint, just kept his gaze steadfast on the entrance to the building.

It had been four hours of waiting. Over the past few weeks, Damian narrowed down the list of suspected locations that the bomber might visit, based on a combination of his research and the tips that Dick gave him. He had cameras but none of them had good enough picture quality to withstand the weather and Damian couldn’t risk letting the bomber slip away from him again, so he decided to do stake out the building himself.

Normally, Damian was more disciplined than this. But his motivation was running thin, his mind racing with the thoughts that Richard had planted into his head. Maybe this was a job better left with Batman. If Damian just shared his research, maybe Bruce could find their criminal on his own, and Damian could just move on.

After all, Batman seemed to be ahead of him anyways. And if he solved it without Damian, then this would have all been for nothing, and the failure and shame—

As Damian sat there, cold rain pelting at him, beginning to saturate into his clothes, the idea of _moving on_ was admittedly romantic. He wouldn’t have to stay in Gotham. Maybe he could just take Goliath and run around the world, solving different injustices. It’d certainly be a better use of his skillset.

Though, the idea of leaving everyone behind was…

Damian stopped himself. He wasn’t going to impress his father by _running away_. He already came so far in his research. Even if he was racing against his father to catch the bomber, he couldn't give in. Damian needed to remain confident. After all, it was _Damian_ who knew where the bomber was going to strike next, saving the church and getting Batman his lead. This was his mission. He started it, and he was going to solve it, and even if it was wrong, he would have his moment of glory.

Damian heard something. He turned his head, focusing on the alley. Distant footsteps, heavy from the puddles. He watched carefully as a figure shifted through the shadows. Damian narrowed his eyes, trying to get a good look at the stranger.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream.

Damian’s instinct was to turn and look. It came from the alley behind him. But he never did, he remained steadfast as always, eyes locked on the person before him. The stranger stopped and turned their head, hearing it too, but they weren’t quite close enough in the light that Damian could catch their face.

“ _Somebody_!” the voice screamed again. The stranger didn’t run toward the noise, just continued down the street. Closer and closer to the building that Damian was observing.

Damian was frozen in place. All he needed was to see the stranger go into the building and to ID them. That’s all he needed. Then he could help the person in the alley behind him. He just needed a few more seconds.

“ _Help_!”

Damian gritted his teeth to himself.

He tore away from his lookout spot, hurrying across the rooftop. On the other side, he peered down below. He saw three people—two of which held knives, and without a second thought, he grappled down, quickly putting himself between the target and the assailants.

The two holding their knives were startled by his sudden appearance, one of them even dropped their weapons. They were young, even younger than him, but they were still armed and a threat. He easily knocked down the person that already dropped their weapon, taking advantage of the fact that they were stunned. The other tried to run away but Damian quickly caught up to her, taking away her weapon and placing her in a hold.

“Give it back,” Damian said.

“Give back what?” she asked between gritted teeth.

“The money you stole,” Damian said. “Give it back and I’ll let you go.”

“I wasn’t taking her money,” she said, and she tried to break the hold, nearly breaking her wrist in the process.

At that, Damian frowned. The target tentatively drew closer.

“They said they were going to kill me if I didn’t follow them,” the victim explained. At that, Damian was puzzled. Why would a couple of teenagers take a hostage? But then he looked closer at the girl in his hold, noticed something on her neck underneath the dim lighting. He yanked back her hood to get a closer look at the neck tattoo. He vaguely recognized the symbol.

“You’re part of that fake occult group, aren’t you?” Damian said. “You know you can’t _actually_ summon demons by sacrificing people to a _fake god_ , right?”

“Fuck you!” the girl snapped. “The Red Goddess demands her—”

Damian stopped caring. He twisted her wrist the rest of the way, snapping it and bringing her effectively to her knees. Her scream cut off the rest of her vitriol. Damian let her finish cursing him out before zip-tying her. He did the same to the other teen, who was still rolling in pain from a kick to the gut. Damian called GCPD to pick them up.

Just as Damian finished, he suddenly remembered his mission. The stranger in the alley. He stepped forward, ready to grapple back up to the rooftop, but a voice stopped him.

“Thank you.”

Damian glanced back at the woman he saved.

“I always hear stories on the news about people who are saved by superheroes but I never thought it’d happen to me,” she said. She shook her head slowly and Damian wasn’t sure if the water she was blinking from her eyes was from the rain or from tears. “I might have been dead if you didn’t hear me.”

Damian paused for a moment. He glanced over at the teens he had tied up. “Do you know anything about this occultist group? Why did they target you?”

The woman just shrugged a little. “I don’t know. I know there was that story of that college girl on the news that got arrested, but I haven’t heard much else. But now that I think about it, I have a coworker who said that some strange kid tried luring her into an alley once… maybe it’s related.”

“I’ll find out,” Damian decided after a moment. “I’ll wait here to make sure GCPD picks them up. Get home safely.”

She said her thanks and turned to leave—but then she stopped, glancing back one more time. “What’s your name? I don’t recognize you.”

_Robin_ , he nearly said. But then he remembered.

“I don’t have one.”

 

“Four missing bodies. That’s pretty good work.”

Damian wasn’t startled by the voice. He already knew when he noticed the lights to his safehouse were on. In all honesty, he was only surprised that it took Richard this long to figure out the passcode. He didn’t make it particularly difficult.

Damian didn’t respond at first. It had been a long week. He gave up pursuing the bomber, got sidetracked with a new mission. He took his time kicking off his boots at the door and hanging up his vest and hood before venturing further into the safehouse. Richard was sitting on the ladder, one leg dangling, while reading through one of Damian’s case files. Damian scowled and got closer, climbing down a few steps just to yank the file back.

“What do you want?” Damian said coolly.

“Just wanted to pop in and visit,” Dick said. He glanced up at Damian, smiling lazily. “Plus it’s been raining all week so rebuilding has been a little slow. And, okay, maybe I wanted to congratulate you on your work with _The Bloody Medusa and her Twisted Sisters_ , or whatever the hell they called themselves.”

“ _The Sisterhood of the Red Goddess_ ,” Damian corrected. After a moment of consideration, he shrugged. “I’ve fought organizations with more mediocre names, so it’s hard to criticize. And it wasn’t a difficult case.”

“Those women might be dead but you sent them back home to their families. You gave their loved ones closure,” Dick said, looking Damian in the eye. He tapped the file Damian was holding with the back of his knuckle. “This organization, dumb name and all, didn’t even have a single file on the batcomputer. And yet you saw the bigger picture, you solved a case that none of us even noticed. You did good work.”

Damian looked at him for a moment. “That's not the first time I’ve heard that.”

Damian could feel Dick’s eyes on him, even as he hopped off the ladder. He went to put the case file back in its proper place.

“I mean, if it matters to you that much, Bruce was really impressed too,” Dick said, breaking the tense silence. Damian just shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. You were right.”

“I was _what_?”

At that, Damian stopped and turned around. Dick was now sitting upright, resting his chin on one of the bars. Damian immediately frowned—to which, Dick’s smile just grew bigger. Damian shook his head to himself—sometimes, he refused to believe that Dick was the older one when he acted like such a goddamned kid.

“I’m not saying it again,” Damian said, trying to fight back the heat that rose to his face. He sighed a little to himself, confessing, “I decided to give up the bomber case.”

“I see,” Dick said, in no particular tone. “Is that all?”

“Well,” Damian said, frowning. He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms to himself. “I sort of needed a name to operate under. Since I gave up Robin, I’ve been running around without a real identity to give to people. So I had to do some thinking.”

“So what should I call you, Not Robin?” Dick asked.

“Flamebird.”

“Flamebird,” Dick repeated, face falling.

“What?” Damian said defensively. He was expecting Dick to be as enthusiastic as ever, but instead, he just looked lost. The reaction made him feel like he was being judged. He worked to explain himself, “I just decided that this all started in that burning hospital. The need to make a name for myself. Tear away the old and start with the new. Plus, the obvious bird nod. I felt Flamebird was… fitting.”

“Well, wouldn’t Phoenix work better?” Dick said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“There’s already a vigilante named Phoenix. Same with Firebird,” Damian said.

“Then maybe you should pick something else,” Dick said.

Damian was starting to feel annoyed. “Weren't you the one telling me to create my own identity? So why are _you_ dictating what name I choose?”

“I'm not, but—”Dick stopped himself, seeming to realize his mistake. “Sorry. You're right. It’s your identity. You should go with what speaks to you.”

Damian huffed a little. He couldn’t just let it go. “I didn’t ask for your opinion anyways, _Nightwing_.”

“Hey. My name is cool.”

“Sure, if you’re a thirteen-year-old who only wears black.”

“So… basically you, when you were thirteen.” Dick smiled. “Did you think my name was cool?”

“ _Why are you here_?” Damian exclaimed.

“Okay, okay, there’s one more thing,” Dick said. He reached into the holster where he kept his escrima sticks, pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper. He flicked it in Damian’s direction, where it flew awkwardly before crashing onto the floor. Damian sighed and picked it up.

Inside was an invitation to the reopening of the school.

“There’s going to be a party for all of the volunteers. Yourself included.”

“I hardly have the time.”

“You just finished a mission. What else could you be doing?”

Damian grimaced. “But what if Baba Yaga is there?”

At that, Dick looked confused. “Baba Yaga?”

“The old woman. The designer of the mural.”

“I thought her name was just Baba. _Baba Yaga_ is that witch from those Slavic…” Dick said, trailing off. Suddenly, the realization dawned on him. “Damian! Have you been calling her _Baba Yaga_ this whole time?”

“Yeah. What did you think it meant?”

“I dunno, I just thought _Baba_ was your cute nickname for her!” Dick said. With horror, he added, “I started calling her Baba too!”

Damian had to bite his cheek to stop himself from snickering. Dick must have sensed Damian’s amusement anyways.

“Damian!” Finally, Dick gave a defeated sigh. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter now, I suppose. She went back home to Metropolis. She made it very clear from the get-go that she was only going to be there long enough to oversee the mural, and that she hated Gotham, and that she wasn’t going to come back. So… I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“And what about your beloved Maria?”

“We’re not dating,” Dick said, and he was actually starting to look flustered. “Come on. You should be there. People are going to _want_ you to be there. You helped them rebuild this school.” When Damian just flashed Dick a look, Dick sighed. “Look. Do I have to beg? I’ll do it.”

“You already are,” Damian said, scoffing a little.

 

Damian eventually relented and agreed to go. It turned out that Dick had begged for nothing.

Damian wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing when he was on the same block of the school. He recognized the faces of the volunteers, all crowded around outside of the building. When Damian got closer, he finally understood. The building’s windows had been smashed in and the rebuilt walls had been defaced. Mural included.

“I'm sorry,” Dick said, when he found Damian.

Damian felt no connection to the mural. But he knew the building meant something to Dick, and it became a little harder to not care.

“I'm sorry too,” he said, because it felt like the right thing to say.

“I just don't understand why,” Dick said, brow furrowing.

“Because someone wants you to stay down,” Damian said.

“This is a _school_ ,” Dick said, shaking his head. “How could they just stomp all over a bunch of people who just want to make this city a little bit better?”

Damian could sense the upset in Dick’s voice. It was more than just the injustice. Damian could feel the mixture of uncharacteristic anger and sadness in Dick.

“They’re just things,” Damian said quietly. He didn’t say it in any particular tone, mostly because he wasn’t sure how to feel. Dick was taking the turn of events rather seriously, that much was obvious, and Damian wanted to empathize but he couldn’t. It was too far from his way of thinking.

Dick’s eyes faded a little in response. “I should have just focused on catching the guy first. I bet he’s the one who did this. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Probably,” Damian said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You know, I had a lead—but I never got to follow up on it.”

At that, Dick looked at him. “You had a lead?”

“Well, I should mention that I use that term pretty loosely,” Damian admitted. “One of those stores that Father found had been robbed before the bombing. But the store didn't report it to the police because most of their items were pilfered to begin with. I narrowed down the buildings with owners who might not want to get involved with the police. I've been keeping an eye on them to see if maybe our bomber wanted to steal again, and I was hanging around outside one of the buildings after hours when I spotted someone lurking around. But I didn’t get a look at their face.”

“That’s a better lead than what Batman has,” Dick murmured. Damian eyed him carefully.

“That’s not what you told me,” Damian said.

“He hasn’t been working on it,” Dick said, looking uncomfortable. “He’s been tied up with Justice League work. I sort of… convinced him to hand it off to me.”

“You’re kidding,” Damian said. He didn’t even know where to begin. “Richard—”

“I know—”

“You should have caught him by now. It’s pure dumb luck that the bomber hasn’t decided to attack somewhere else in the time that you have been dilly-dallying—”

“It’s not like I haven’t been working on it. Batman had a strong lead on this one suspect—I’ve been gathering all this information on him. Past crimes, possible motives, and it makes sense. I just have no idea where to find him.” Dick sighed. “But you, on the other hand, have at least _seen_ someone.”

When Dick explained it further, Damian calmed down a little. So they were both stuck on the case, and for their own reasons they had both gotten distracted. Damian glanced back at the school, defaced mural and all. They were both connected to this place, whether Damian cared to admit it or not. Damian might not have been as invested as Dick was in rebuilding the school, but he had to set things right. He had to find this bomber.

And if that meant they had to work as a team again, then so be it.

 

It had been a long day. Dick and Damian collaborated on their information on the case.

They started at the school.

The security cameras in the area had been clearly clipped. But one of the bat cameras managed to get a glimpse of someone. The person matched the suspect Dick and Bruce had been gathering info on. As to where to find him, they could only agree that the bomber wasn't finished with his operations.

“He's not happy with the rebuilding,” Dick said. “He'll strike the school again.”

“No. The school was taken down. His real failure was not taking the church down. He'll either strike there or go bigger.”

“The bridge? It's the only other highpoint in uptown,” Dick said. Damian nodded slowly. It could be that. Dick shook his head to himself. “He might have gotten away with this if he had just let it go.”

“His pettiness is going to be his downfall,” Damian agreed.

From there, it was simple. They got GCPD involved to search the church and the bridge. Sure enough, they found bombs underneath the bridge, ready to detonate. From their, Dick and Damian followed the trail to an address where they could potentially grab their suspect.

They had been waiting on an adjacent rooftop for hours, waiting for him to leave the building. They sat side by side, exacting the same discipline they had been trained.

“I see him,” Dick said, finally breaking the silence. “In one of the windows.”

Dick moved to get up but Damian grabbed him by the wrist.

“What?” Dick said, looking at him.

“I need to make sure that you’re not going to do anything irrational,” Damian said, narrowing his eyes.

“Irrational in what way?” Dick said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. But Damian wasn’t laughing.

“Well, for one, we shouldn't break in there. We should wait for him to leave. But more than that, you’ve been taking this mission personally,” Damian said, skipping to his point. “You can hide it all you want, but you’re sulking. And I know your history.”

Dick seemed taken aback. “Wait, you’re telling _me_ to not get emotional?”

“Anger helps in battle,” Damian said at once. “But anger and _grief_ are different, and we can both guess where you sit. It’s not just the school, Nightwing. You’re trying to redeem yourself for Amusement Mile. Even further than that—for Blüdhaven. For _all_ the things you tried to repair and _couldn’t_.”

Dick didn’t hit him with a comeback.

“We’re going to take him down because we’re the best ones for the job. Then we’re going to hand him to GCPD, like we’ve always done. And then we’re going to put this behind us,” Damian said. “We're going to let go of it, once and for all.”

“Right,” Dick said, turning his gaze back on the building.

Damian looked down at the wrist in his hand, momentarily transfixed by how the blue of Dick’s glove led into the dull red of his own. It was a uniform similarity he had never noticed until now. He let go, hoping he hadn't been caught staring.

“There's something I should tell you about Nightwing.”

“What, you've decided to start talking in third person?”

“No, it's about the name _Nightwing_.”

At that, Damian frowned. “You already told me.”

“Well, I didn't tell you the whole story.” Dick kneeled next to Damian again, relaxing. Dick rubbed the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. “Look, it's not that it's a huge secret—but it's a bit personal to me. On Krypton, Nightwing was one of two halves. There was Nightwing and then there was Flamebird.”

“Flamebird,” Damian repeated. Now Dick had his attention. Dick just nodded idly to himself, continuing on.

“Nightwing was the builder. Flamebird was the destroyer. Nightwing built and built, and in order to refresh the world, Flamebird would burn it all down.” At that, Damian blinked. Dick had never told him this half of the story, and yet, it sounded all too familiar. “Flamebird would destroy, Nightwing would rebuild, and the cycle would repeat itself.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Damian asked after a moment. He thought about telling Dick his name—specifically, how Dick reacted. Trying to make him get rid of it and find a new one. Indeed, Dick seemed to be eyeing him with a less-than-enthusiastic expression. “Are you saying that I'm the destroyer? That I just tear down everything you build?”

“When Superman first told me that story, I could have chosen to be Flamebird or Nightwing. Flamebird is the destroyer, yes, but Flamebird was also empowered by Rao, the God of Krypton. Flamebird wasn't destroying the world, Flamebird was returning it to its rightful order. But Nightwing picked up the pieces of what was left, rebuilding. That's why I chose Nightwing,” Dick said. Dick continued, “But if there was just Nightwing, he would have just kept building and building until there was nothing left. Yes, Flamebird destroyed all of the things he made, but it also kept Nightwing in check. The destruction stopped Nightwing from getting ahead of himself.” Dick’s expression softened, his eyes almost tender. “When you first asked me about my name, I didn’t tell you about Flamebird because I never thought that half of the story was important. I was more focused on _my_ half of the story. For as long as I've done this, it's always been me. It's always just been Nightwing.”

Damian just looked at him. He wasn't sure what to say.

He wasn't even sure if he wanted to speak, in fear he might interrupt what Dick would say.

“I've always worked in pairs. It's how I was raised. But it's different when we work together. You push me farther,” Dick said.

“In what way?” Damian asked. He can't help but think of all the times Dick had to reel him out of trouble. Maybe Damian pushed Dick too far.

“You just do. Sometimes towards greatness. Sometimes to the brink of insanity. But the legend is true, no one keeps me in check like you do,” Dick said.

Damian stared.

He didn't know how Dick did it. How he always managed to talk himself back into forgiveness.

Before Damian could even blink, Dick’s hand wrapped around his head, fingers lacing through Damian’s short hair. Dick pressed his lips on Damian’s temple. He pressed hard, seconds passing before he finally pulled away.

Damian turned his head, eyes locking with Dick’s. Heart beating fast, he grabbed Dick by the back of the neck, pulling him in for a proper kiss. Damian’s mouth crushed against Dick’s heatedly, and Dick’s lips parted slightly. He eased into kissing Damian back, soft lips brushing against Damian’s. Slowing him down.

Damian heard a noise. They must have heard it the same time, because they both broke away and looked. The door to the building had opened.

They didn't have to say anything to each other. They both acted without a cue, leaping forward.

 

Damian entered the door to his safehouse, where Dick was waiting for him, sitting improperly in his chair—legs propped over the armrest, head hanging over the other with his hair splayed out.

“Can’t you ever just knock?” Damian asked. His eyes narrowed. “For that matter, can you ever just _sit normally_?”

Damian stopped when he noticed a large trunk sitting on his desk. He frowned, moving closer to inspect it.

“He wanted to say thank you for saving the city and he admitted that, maybe, one day, the cowl will be yours,” Dick said.

“What did he _actually_ say?” Damian said, popping open the locks to the trunk.

“ _His skill set is expanding and he’s learning to be more capable and responsible_ ,” Dick said in a gruff voice. “ _This should help him get started. As for his future, I can’t say yet what my plans for the cowl are, but he’s on the right track_.”

Damian swung open the trunk. Inside was a uniform, similar to what he had been wearing. Yet, this was definitely of its own design, as opposed to a Robin suit with the _R_ chopped off. The red details were lined with a thin gold—nothing too showy, but distinctly different. The rest of the trunk was filled with tools and equipment for every occassion, luxury items that he couldn’t afford to bring with him when he left home. Instead of batarangs, he was given tools in red that were much more bird shaped.

All of it fit into with Flamebird identity.

Damian pulled out a set of keys that were placed in its own compartment.

“I couldn’t exactly carry that with me,” Dick said. “They’re keys to the Northern safehouse—the one that’s connected to my old loft, that’s currently vacant, which I’m assuming is all yours as well. I can say personally that it’s a pretty nice place—it’s got a real good view of the city.”

“He’s really giving me all of this,” Damian said. It’s not that he couldn’t believe it, it was just more than he expected.

“It’s not a handout. It’s payment to you, in exchange for your hard work. It’s to help you protect the city, the same as he gives the rest of us. He respects the work that you do. Be proud.”

“Never thought someone would encourage that in me,” Damian said, snorting. He closed his hand around the keys.

“That being said, since you are part of the team, Batman does have a mission he wants you to be a part of and he can brief you on it as soon as you’re ready getting settled in.”

“And what about you?” Damian said, looking at him. He came closer, holding the chair in place that Dick kept spinning side to side in.

Dick looked up at him, their eyes locked for a moment. “What about me?”

“We make a good team,” Damian said, and he could say that with confidence. “We always have.” He shrugged, adding, “And while destiny is certainly an overly convoluted concept, it is interesting that I happened to pick the name that pairs to your Nightwing.”

“You know,” Dick said, and Damian could feel Dick’s hand hook onto his vest, ever so slightly tugging him in closer. “I think I'll miss this place. You sort of made it your own.”

Damian let him pull at him. Felt his knees bend, until they were at eye level.

“It's not really a makeout point anymore,” Dick said, lips curving.

Damian would have rolled his eyes but in all honesty, he had been waiting for Dick to say the right words.

 

Dick helped Damian carry the paints and other supplies back to the school. The volunteers had already painted and primed over the defaced mural, that was too far from salvageable. Damian decided it was better to start over.

“How’d you convince Baba to give up her design?” Dick asked as they set up the space. “Maria said when it happened, she tried calling her, but she refused to pick up.”

“I didn’t,” Damian said. He flipped on the projector, a cityscape of Gotham projected onto the wall. This one was drawn by Damian’s own hand. “I decided we should try something new.”

 


End file.
